The Business of Your Life
by Insideavoice
Summary: In which Dallas often, uncharacteristically, speaks without thinking, and Fiona is just, well, simply there.


**Author's Note: I don't know what this is, and I'm afraid this doesn't make any sense. But their friendship…**

"'_It seems that the devil controls the business of my life.'"_ The words raddled around in that brain of his for quite some time now. It felt good to –

A cough sounded. "Um…" A hanging question mark inside a smirk. "The devil, eh?"

Oh, Dallas blinked, had he said that out loud? He thought he was alone. These long practices would be the death of him… Dallas cleared his throat, recovering. "Just something someone named Bolivar supposedly said once."

"Just once?" Fiona quirked a brow, adjusting her shoulder bag and shuffling some papers to her other arm.

They were at school, after practice, after hours. Dallas wondered why she was here now. He knew the wondering wasn't because he _cared_, exactly – what with her turning out to be a lesbian and all. He was just… curious. Yes, he was allowed to be curious, wasn't he? Curious is what he was.

He shrugged then, not even bothering to hide his breaking grin. He vaguely wondered if he looked as much of the pansy that he felt he was being right then. "How should I know?"

Fiona laughed at him though it felt as if she were laughing _with _him – (Huh. Curiouser and curiouser) – She popped a squat next to him on the first landing of the stairway he'd crashed at after all the guys had left.

Absently, she arranged the piles of paper in her lap. She spoke airily. "I don't know. I wasn't expecting you to quote Simon Bolivar and yet…" Her eyes narrowed, as if she suspected him of something Dallas couldn't quite pin down. "Here we are."

Dallas forced his shoulders up, then down. "You caught me," he voiced in mock surrender. "I read things."

A bark of a laugh. "Who would have thought?"

"Not me."

A pause then. "Why are you here though?" She sounded genuinely confused. She looked it, too, with her head at that angle, hair falling around that face, her eyes all crinkled.

"Uh hockey," he eyed her back oddly, his tone still managing mockery. "Now, I could ask you the same question."

"Student council papers to copy, but we're not on the ice," she replied swiftly, steering him back on track.

There was something about her he didn't _get._ He was afraid it showed. "No, we are not."

"Nope," she chirped agreeably. "So," she asked again, "Why are you here?" She gave an all encompassing sort of gesture that Dallas took to mean _the-present-moment._

"Crashing," he said, before he could think better of it. "'The business of my life.'"

"Ah," she nodded. "Back to that again."

"Back?" He grimaced dramatically. "Never left," he winked. He meant to make her laugh. She didn't. He guessed the truth didn't make that great of a joke, anyways.

There was a moment then in which Dallas wished for – something – anything – not this. Girls were never his problem. He knew plenty. But this one? This one…

_It's because she doesn't want you, _a voice in his ear told him.

To which the voice in his other ear responded, _But _why_ does she have to dig _girls_?_

He swatted them away.

Fiona eyed him warily. "Are you okay?"

Dallas looked and saw his hand flailing in midair. How had it gotten there? Oh right, the swatting. That was only supposed to be mentally. Lord, was he losing it, or was he losing it?

"Uh." He brought his hand back down, sat on it even to prevent any further mishap. "Yeah."

Fiona rolled her eyes back at him in what he recognized as a good natured sort of manner. As if… as if the were friends?

"Dallas," she laughed then. "Has anyone ever told you how, uh, strange you are?" He said nothing. "I mean, if it wasn't for your douchey-hockey-captain status, I'd almost, well," she laughed again.

"Well?" he prompted. He would have waved a gesture to continue if not for the sitting-on-hand debacle. He thought he realized what it meant to be _waiting on baited breath._

"I'd think you were, well, a pretty cool guy." She shrugged in a _it's-no-big-deal _kind of way.

"I'm sorry? I'm both strange _and _cool?" This time, it was Dallas who laughed. "Has anyone ever told _you _how strange _you_ are?"

"Idiot." She nudged his shoulder, smiling. "I meant 'cool' as in 'decent.' Like, if you weren't such a dick sometimes, you'd be a decent guy. And besides, strange doesn't have to be an insult."

"Oh." Dallas smirked. "Right, of course."

She got up then, reassembled her papers and held out a hand to him, presumably to help him up off the landing.

"Fiona," he heard a voice in his ear say all in a rush. "Whydoya _have_ to dig _girls?"_ Dallas blinked. Had he really said that out loud? (But it sounded nothing like him!) Not this again… God, if the guys could only hear him now.

"Mike." She dropped her hand then.

He coughed. "Just forget – "

"Look, I'm flattered, really," she told him, taking a few slow steps backwards down the steps. With him still seated, they were at eye level. "But you don't even know me."

"Just forget I said – "

Still, she continued as if without interruption. "But I can see we're not that different, in some ways at least."

He stared.

"Before I, you know, came out – officially – I thought I was in love with my best friend. She was straight – I wasn't." She closed her eyes for a brief second, remembering. "But that didn't seem to matter. In fact, I think that's what made it feel _stronger._" She seemed to be looking at some spot on the wall behind him. "That's the thing, isn't it? The chase?" She gesticulated. "We want what we can't have. In love with the _idea_ of – "

Dallas knew he had to stop this or it was possible he would die of the humiliation. "I'm not in love with you."

"I didn't mean – "

Dallas stood up then, thoroughly embarrassed. "You were just something to think about when practice let out. Just, you know, having _someone_, anyone. I'm just kind of a big flirt." He shrugged, discomfited.

"So, you mean you don't want to change me and make me your – " She squinted as if trying to call a word to mind. "_Puck bunny_ – was it?"

"Ha!" He couldn't help the following snort, really.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Dallas laughed, waving his hands around – both of them this time, forgetting, for just a second, his embarrassment. "You saying that… those words… that was funny. Usually I just get to hear the fellow hockey guys say it. Not – "

"Dallas." She shook her head.

"Fiona." He'd stopped laughing now. He spoke seriously, apologetically. "You're in love with a girl named Imogen. I get it. When I first saw you though, you just seemed like someone who didn't want to talk – didn't want to even _care – _about hockey. Which is a nice thing." Dallas pulled his back bag over both shoulders. "Since that's the devil that seems to control the business – "

" – of your life," Fiona smiled a bit tightly, nodding. "That again."

"It never left."

"It never leaves, does it?"

"Never."

They walked down to the lobby together.

"There must be a lot of pressure being captain… away from home, too," Fiona finally remarked.

"No more than being an active member of student council and living alone in some loft, I'd imagine," he countered.

Fiona smiled at him then, when they reached the front doors, about to leave. "You know, when you're not around your teammates, you're not so bad, Dallas."

"Thanks, I guess." Dallas worked to hide his grin. He pushed open the doors. "Say hey to Imogen, would you?"

Fiona stopped in her tracks. "I never did thank you for that, did I? For that advice when I was being so stupid and awkward and blind towards my own girlfriend?"

"I wouldn't say _that_ exactly – "

"Thanks, Dallas."

"Fiona," he looked at her now from the stone steps outside, as she meandered her backwards way toward the parking lot. "What are friends for?"


End file.
